


Batdad Begins

by ScreamQueenBee (screamqueenbee)



Series: Batdad and the Robkin [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Talon (Comics)
Genre: Court of Owls, Gen, Haly's Circus, and so it begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamqueenbee/pseuds/ScreamQueenBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has watched too many parents die, he doesn't want Dick Grayson to end up like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batdad Begins

Bruce had seen people die. He’d watched his parents die, gunned down. He’d seen people die in fires and at the hands of the madmen he fought against as Batman. He’d seen suicides pulled out of the river and off the tops of cars.

He’d never seen people die like that. He’s never seen people go from flying to falling in a split seconds, barely the times pan between two heartbeats.

But he knew too well the heart-rending crying of a little boy who had watched his entire world be taken away from him. And suddenly Bruce was eight years old again, watching the smoke curl upwards from Joe Chill’s gun and pearls scatter across the cobblestones of Crime Alley.

 

The performers of Haley’s circus were quick to hide the bodies of the Graysons once it was determined that nothing could be done for them, and the youngest Grayson was whisked away by the clowns. The audience was escorted out and to their cars in an orderly manner by Gotham Police, headed up by Jim Gordon.

Bruce slipped out of the tent just as the ambulance was taking the bodies of the Flying Graysons to the Gotham City morgue, and looked around for any clues as to who cut the lines they were using. GCPD and Mr. Haley himself were crowded around the trapeze stands, and Bruce couldn’t get anywhere near them.

He looked around and saw a flash of blue and gold in the dark by the elephant area and jogged over to see if the younger Grayson saw or knew anything that could help him find out what happened.

Dick Grayson was visibly shaken, half hidden between two elephants and a very angry and very ruffled pre-teen in a shimmery bronze costume who was trying to keep a colorful wool blanket on the younger boy’s shoulders. As he got closer to them, Bruce could hear snippets of an argument they were having, unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be in English or any language that Bruce could understand.

The elephants noticed him first, penning the boys in closer with their massive bodies. Bruce put his hands up, showing the animals that he had nothing to harm the children with. The boy in the bronze costume stepped in front of Grayson, Bruce recognized him as Calvin Rose. Only thirteen and already better than Harry Houdini if his introductions were to be believed

“You ain’t supposed to be here.” The older boy warned. “You better leave before I call for the roustabouts to make you leave.”

Bruce took a step back, instinct telling him to get on their level but not wanting to come off as insulting them. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, a lot of people are running around trying to find out what happened and not much attention is paid to the others involved.”

Calvin’s dark eyebrows came together and his lips pulled back over oddly sharp-looking teeth. “And what do you know about it?”

“I know because my parents were shot right in front of me and no one made sure I was okay until I was taken home.” Bruce said gently, more to the boy hiding behind Calvin than to Calvin himself. “I just want to make sure that someone is checking up on you.”

“We’ve got people watching us.” Dick piped up from behind Calvin’s arm. “Zitka and Eleanore always keep an eye on us.”

“The elephants?” Bruce looked up at the tall animals, into the deep brown eyes, very much like a deer or a cow’s eyes. The one in the blue pennant and gold tassels raised her trunk to his hair and sniffed at it, ruffling it out of its slicked back style. Bruce held up a hand for her to investigate and the elephant wrapped the tip of her trunk around his fingers. He knew a little about elephants, mainly from Alfred’s stories about being a soldier in Africa, they were fiercely protective of their young and often took on abandoned young of other species to foster. Little Bruce was ecstatic because he was _holding hands with an elephant._

Grayson stepped out from behind Calvin, his blue eyes bright and watery, but Calvin’s hand reached out and caught the edge of his blanket. “What happened when your parents died?”

Calvin spoke sharply in the same language they had been speaking in before Bruce got there, and the younger boy fired back in the same tone. Bruce waited until their argument had finished and the Grayson boy seemed to have won.

“What happened?” The boy repeated, somehow looking even smaller than Bruce assumed he was. He swallowed, unsure of where even to begin.

“My parents were my entire life,” Bruce paused and waited for the knot in his throat to pass. “When they died, my whole world felt like it was crashing down around while the ground fell out from under me. Luckily I had a support system of people that took care of me, but I went through a lot of tough times. I still am.”

“He has people to take care of him.” Calvin said tersely, wrapping a protective arm around the youngest Grayson. “Come on, _Tawni,_ let’s get out of here. You don’t need to be talking to people like him, he thinks you’re some kind of charity case.”

Bruce bit back a retort and took his ticket out of his pocket, jotting down the phone number to the Manor before he handed it to the boy. “If you need anything at all, even if it’s just to talk, you can call me. My name is Bruce, I’m almost always reachable by phone.”

He took it and folded it carefully, then put it into a pocket. “Thanks, Bruce.”

Calvin tugged on the boy’s arm. “Let’s go, Dick.”

Bruce watched the pair walk away, gently herded by the elephants, and into a deeper part of the circus camp. He stood there for a second, wondering if he was doing the right thing by letting them walk away, but knowing that there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Mr. Wayne,” It was Mr Haley, who had arranged the late performance for Bruce. “I don’t even know where to begin… Our circus is one of the safest in the world, we double and triple check every safety measure.” The man was babbling, twisting the brim of his sequined top hat between his hands. “Accidents like this, well, they just don’t happen.”

Bruce couldn’t help but be reminded of a young police officer who’d given him a similar speech while he sat in the open passenger seat of Alfred’s personal car.

“So you don’t think it was an accident?”

Haley shook his head and took a handkerchief out of his pocket up mop up the sweat and tears on his face with. “Trapeze lines don’t break. They have to be cut. What we can’t rightly figure out is who wanted John and Mary dead. They’re good, decent people. Never got into anything untoward, and Dick’s too young and too good a kid to get into that kind of mess.” Haley sighed again and wiped his cheeks again. “We just don’t know who could do this.”

“What will happen to the boy?” Bruce looked back to where Calvin and Dick had disappeared off to as a few GCPD officers walked that way too, no doubt looking to question the boys. “I’d like to help in any way that I can.”

“He won’t want for anything. We care for our own, Mr. Wayne.” Haley assured. “His parents set up a trust fund in case they were to be injured, I’m not sure how much, but it’s enough for him to live on if he’s smart.”

Bruce handed the man his business card. “If you find yourselves in need of anything, just give me a call.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wayne.” He shook Bruce’s hand gestured to the exit of the camp, no doubt wanting Gotham’s biggest playboy out from underfoot. They shook hands and Bruce went back to his car, still thinking about the little boy who had just watched him parents murdered in front of him.

 

Alfred was waiting when he got back to the Manor, ready to take his coat. The old man’s face was heavily lined and he seemed greyer than when Bruce had left that night. “I saw what happened at the circus. It’s all over the news.”

Bruce walked into the kitchen and sat on one stools at the island, then dropped his head into his hands. Alfred pushed a cup of tea in front of him; he could smell the lavender and chamomile of the butler’s special tea blend that seemed to make everything better. Bruce didn’t know if he could stomach anything at the moment.

He wanted to put on the suit and knock skulls together until he found out who killed the Graysons.

“It was horrible, Alfred. It was Crime Alley all over again.” Bruce dragged rough fingers through his hair, further disturbing the playboy look he’d adopted for the evening. “That kid is going to end up in foster care, mark my words, and it’ll break him. I see people like that every night I go out into the city”

Alfred squeezed his shoulder. “I know you don’t like to hear it, Master Bruce, but you cannot save everyone and you will kill yourself trying to. There are systems in place for situations like this, and sometimes you have to trust those systems.”

_Those systems never helped me, and I had all the money and power in the world._ But Bruce couldn’t say that, couldn’t let Alfred into that secret like he had had all the rest. Some part of his life had to remain his own…

He put a hand over Alfred’s, steadying himself with the feeling of the starched white gloves under his fingers. “I can help this one.” 

 

For the next week, Batman was vicious. He hit harder, kicked harder, broke more bones, and got more information than he had in months. The death of the Graysons had something to do with an organization called the Court of Owls that Bruce had never heard of. But his harsher methods didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is something wrong?” Jim Gordon asked, leaning up against the giant search light on top of GCPD headquarters. Bruce had just touched down on the roof top, tactical boots crunching the gravel underneath him while the weighted scallops of his cape rasped as he moved towards the detective.

“Why would you think that?” Bruce stood much taller and wider as Batman, an imposing figure next to Gordon. The detective calmly took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Because Blackgate’s got more people in the Medical Wing than in Gen Pop.” Gordon sighed out a stream of steel grey smoke and fogged breath. “We’re at capacity as it is. More bodies of foot soldiers are showing up too. You know I can’t protect you if you’re killing people.”

“I’m not killing anyone; I’m just trying to get people to talk.” Bruce nodded, not realizing that he hadn’t taken that into account. “But I’ll tone it down; I can’t have one of the only good cops in the city under investigation.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather know what’s got you so worked up.” Gordon switched the Signal off and the air felt suddenly colder without the immense heat it generated. “I think I can take a guess that it’s got something to do with what went down at Haley’s Circus earlier this month.”

“I just don’t like to see innocent people murdered to send a message.” Bruce ground out. “And I found out that that is exactly what happened. Some group called the Owls wanted to intimidate Haley because he refused to give them the Grayson boy.”

“What are they into? Trafficking?” Gordon shook his head and lit another cigarette with the butt of the last before raking a hand through his graying hair. “God, that’s just what we need on top of everything else. Psychos, drug dealers, and now human traffickers. Jesus H Christ.”

“No one knows what they do with the children, just that they disappear.” At least not that he’d been told, and he had a wider range of interrogation methods than the brass.

“How are children going missing and no one is reporting them?” Gordon asked, less of a detective and more of a father. Bruce knew he had children, a boy going down the wrong path and a girl who spent a lot of time in the newborn Cyber Crimes unit.

“From what I understand, many of them are the children of criminals, prodigies with following the example of their parents.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather under the joints of his armor creaking with the strain. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“It’s an old nursery rhyme.” Gordon explained, tossing the two butts over the side of the railing. “I can’t remember how it goes, but too many people in Gotham believe in them and are scared shitless at even the mention of the Court.”

Bruce gave a single nod, turning to leave the rooftop. “Haley’s Circus is in Chicago for the rest of the season, the Owls will probably go after them there.”

“I’ll get in touch with Chicago, tell them to keep an eye out.” He took out a leather bound notepad and jotted a note down; Bruce was almost certain it was the same notepad from twenty years ago. “And you need to stop hurting my criminals. Help old ladies cross the street, feed pigeons in the park. Stop doing your job so well.”

Bruce shot a line and was gone by the time Gordon looked up.

 

There was a message waiting for him on his comm when he swung down to the alley where the Batmobile was hidden. He noticed almost immediately that the car sat lower than normal, and when Bruce walked around to the side, he saw why.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…”  He did not need this, not while some kind of child traffickers under the guise of an old urban legend.

His comm crackled to life and Alfred came over the line. _“Is something the matter, Master Bruce?”_

“You would not believe this.” Bruce kicked the bare hub on the drivers side wheel well before looking deeper into the alley. There were hushed whispers coming from a much narrower alley between the old buildings, but they stopped when he closed in.

A young boy, in a grease-smeared red sweat suit and black vest to protect him against the cold, stood with a much older man, arguing. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, but brandished a tire iron in a why that left no doubt that he knew exactly how to use it.

“-Where’s the fuckin’ money? You know we fuckin’ needed that to get mom’s suboxone!” The boy had a very thick Park Row accent and dark, unkempt curls, the older man looked similar. Some relation, Bruce guessed, an uncle or his father.

The man caught the boy by the arm and yanked him up into the air. He let out a pained yelp, the iron clattered uselessly to the street. “You don’t tell me what we use my money-“

The boy kicked out at the man frantically as Bruce swooped in. The man let him go like he was something vile. The boy dropped to the ground and ran, worming away down a sewer opening far too small for either Bruce or the man to get into.

He’d settle for the man instead.

“Do you know who I am?” Bruce growled into the man’s face, closing in faster than even he knew was possible . He looked terrified under the patchy facial hair and car grease, babbling in a way that made him sound mad. “Then why did you fuck with my car?”

“It wasn’t me! It was that brat kid, I didn’t know what he was doin’ until he brought me those wheels to hock!” The man didn’t give him an acceptable answer, but Bruce figured the tires were a lost cause if they’d already been sold off. He tossed the thief into a pile of garbage bags and stalked off, locking the car down with the press of a button on his belt.

_“Master Bruce?”_ Alfred repeated a little louder this time. _“Is everything alright?”_

“Someone stole my tires.” Bruce growled into the mask’s internal microphone. “A kid, apparently, stole my tires.”

A soft chuckle interrupted the low static that meant the comm line was still open. “There is a motorbike three streets over. What do you want to do with the car?”

“Destroy it, tomorrow morning. There’s a kid in the area.”

_“Heard. Speaking of children, a young man called Grayson left a message for you.”_ He stopped just short of the bike, pressing a hand to his ear to make sure he heard everything correctly _. “He said he’s coming in from Chicago on the train and was wondering if you would meet him at the station.”_

A thin feeling of panic ran through him. He wasn’t sure what the boy want thinking, or why he was alone. Where was Haley? Or did he even know that Dick was gone?

“Did he say he was alone?”

  _“He gave no indication, but I assume so.”_

_“_ Did he say when he would arrive?”

_“He gave no indication, however I told him to call as soon as he got into Gotham.”_

“Heard,” Bruce revved the engine of the bike before roared out of the alley and down the street. “I’m coming home now.”

 

Bruce reached the Manor without further incident; Alfred was sitting in front of the super computer that sat on the Cave’s main floor.

“I did some checking, and the Grayson boy should arrive in Gotham around 6:30 tomorrow morning.” Alfred stood from the chair, removing the headset he used to communicate with Bruce in the field. Bruce was already stripping out of his costume and hanging it up on the metal frame for cleaning and sanitization.

“I also found out why he might be coming back to Gotham.”

Bruce’s head perked up as he grabbed a protein shake from the mini fridge nearby. “Why’s that?”

Alfred walked over to him with a towel, which he used to dry his hair and neck of sweat. “Haley’s Circus is going out of business, and that teenaged escapologist has run away.”

“Let me guess, he ran away to Gotham? And Dick is running after him.”

Alfred shrugged briefly. “That is the thought, yes.” The butler checked his watch. “It’s almost four o’clock, you need to get some rest because you go to pick up young Grayson. We can decide what to do with the car afterwards.”

Bruce let himself be herded upstairs and into bed, but he couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts were rushing through his head and keeping rest from him. An uneasy, anxious feeling settled into his stomach and his fingertips and left him tossing over and over until his alarm went off.

 

Alfred had set out toast and coffee for Bruce to take with him on his way to trains station, with the promise of a more substantial breakfast upon his return with Dick Grayson and perhaps Calvin Rose.

It was too early for that much traffic on roads, so he got to the station quickly and stood at the arrival gate. The train must have been early because Dick Grayson came striding out of the gate and went directly to the bank of payphones in the center of the station floor.

Bruce walked quickly to catch up with him before he got to the phones, nearly getting knocked to the ground when Dick threw himself at his chest in a bruising hug and starting talking fast in the same, strange language that Bruce couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“Dick, Dick.” The boy pulled away, red-cheeked and disheveled from hugging Bruce. His dark hair was sleep-mussed as were his clothes, and the backpack on his shoulders looked too full to just have a couple of days worth of clothing “I can’t understand you, slow down.”

Dick nodded and took a couple of steadying breaths. “The Owls got Calvin and they brought him here. They were going to put us in an orphanage but the Owls tried to take us before that happened. They got Cal and brought him here!”

Bruce put up his hands to quiet the boy, who stopped talking almost immediately. “Let’s talk about this in the car, then we’ll call Detective Gordon and get Calvin back from the Owls. Okay?”

The pair walked calmly to Bruce’s black sedan, making every effort not to look like some creep luring a kid into his car. As soon as Dick was settled into the back seat, Bruce dialed Jim Gordon’s personal line on his cell.

_“Detective Gordon, major crimes.”_

_“_ Detective Gordon, this is Bruce Wayne. I Have Dick Grayson with me, he called me to pick him up from the train station.” His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, seeing that the boy was curled up against his backpack, asleep. “He says that his friend, Calvin Rose, was picked by a group called the Court of Owls.”

_“Bring him in.”_  On Gordon’s end, papers were rustling like he was shoveling them into a briefcase. “ _We’ll need a current picture of Rose, a physical description, and any known relatives to put out onto the news. I’ll get in touch with Missing Persons, put out an Amber Alert and get that circulating. We’ll find him.”_

“Thank you, Gordon.” Bruce had to remember not to seem too familiar with the detective; Bruce Wayne didn’t have as much call to be familiar with him as Batman did. Thankfully, he had years of playing the idiot under his belt and it came almost second nature to him. “I’m bringing him now, but he’ll be tired. It’s a long train ride from Chicago to Gotham.”

Gordon hung up just as Bruce’s car pulled into the police station’s parking lot. He twisted around in his seat, and poked the boy’s knee. He jerked awake, eyes bleary and confused and proving that Bruce had very little rapport with children under the age of twenty one.

“Hey, there.” He said quietly, waiting for the boy to get his bearings before speaking further. “We’re going to talk to a friend of mine and we’re going to get Calvin back.”

Dick nodded tiredly and got out of the car, adjusting the straps on his backpack so they sat more comfortably on his shoulders. Bruce reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, the gesture feeling odd and forced to both of them judging by the weird look Dick gave him as soon as it happened.

He didn’t know what it was, just something about him and kids never seemed right. Even when he was a kid, all the others kept a distance from him.

“This is a police station.” Dick said while they walked up the stairs and into the bustling lobby, Bruce knew exactly where they were going, so he moved with purpose to Major Crimes. The boy followed behind him, looking at everything with interest.

Gordon met them at his desk and escorted them to an interrogation room; Dick looked impossibly small in the chair, a soda with a blue bendy straw in it to help wake him up.

He asked the boy all the normal questions: where was Calvin last seen, how Dick he know the Owls had taken him, did he know if Calvin had any family. It took a little over two hours of gentle coaxing from Gordon until he extracted all of the information the boy had, and sent the information along with a Haley’s advertisement with Calvin’s face on it to the printers.

“We’ll find him, son. I promise.” Gordon squeezed his shoulder and Dick nodded. It was a completely different reaction than when Bruce did it. “Where are you staying tonight? Mr. Wayne said you came alone.”

“Um…” Dick looked down at his scuffed shoes, fingers tightening around the straps of his bag. “I didn’t really think… I can get a room at a hotel, I’ve got money enough to stay until Calvin comes back.”

Gordon and Bruce looked at each other. “I can put him up. We’ve got enough space.” He looked down at Dick, remembering suddenly how it felt to have adults around him deciding his fate as if he wasn’t _standing right there._ “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

The boy didn’t hesitate in nodding, and Gordon handed him his card. “If you need to get in touch with me, this is my cell phone number. Call any time you need me to.”

The card got secreted into a pocket in Dick’s coat, then he turned to Bruce. “We’ve already started running the Amber Alerts. There won’t be a television in the country that doesn’t have Calvin’s face on it.”

Bruce shook his hand. “Thank you for this, Gordon. I’m sure we’ll be getting in touch soon.”

The youngest Grayson stood back while the adults talked to each other, bouncing on the balls of his feet because he just couldn’t stand still. He wanted to get out of the room he’d been in for hours and start looking for his friend, his brother, really. He wanted to paste up flyers like he had the circus posters.

Calvin had always talked about being famous, Dick wasn’t sure he meant like this.


End file.
